


Different is Daring to Live

by bigsweatersandcuddleweather



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Acceptance, Cultural Differences, Cultural References, Culture, Foreign Language, Pakistan, Urdu, pakistani, rednose, zayn centric, zianourry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsweatersandcuddleweather/pseuds/bigsweatersandcuddleweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s a pride thing Harreh. We’re all prideful people, wont ask for help, even with we’re most desperate for it.</p>
<p>The way he referred to them as we, clumping himself in with his people, and it made Harry grin proudly, because Zayn was accepting this part of him, so openly when he would normally do everything in his power to shove it away and downplay that he was different. Because here he wasn't the different one, the rest of them were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different is Daring to Live

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble of a failed fic where the boys went to Pakistan for RedNose day

He walked over to them, more relaxed in the traditional salwar kameez then them, his stark black different from their varying shades of gray, to light blue and tan. 

"Hey lads. Ready to go?" he asked, tugging the ends of his sleeves till they covered his knuckles. Harry smiled at the nervous moement, knowing that he was probably just as freaked out about this dinner as them but he was constantly trying to cover it up.

"Sure. Lead the way Mr. Anwar." Liam said, waiting till the rest of the boys were following ahead of him before walking off. The streets were silent, dark and vacant of the streetlights that they were used to blaring over concrete floors in London. Here it was just ominous shadows that cast shapes against mud walls and uneven bumpy sand roads.

"Here we are lads. Just watch your heads." they ducked through the low hanging doorway, waiting for Mr. Anwar to walk through before following him to the open doorway,a curtain in the way. A man came out, beard pure white but his face held lines that spoke of a younger age then his hair told. he grinned, shaking hands with Mr Anwar who bowed his head slightly in respect.

“ _Asalamualaikum. Aap kon hai_?” a younger man came up to them, holding out his hand, his tone slightly menacing as he asked them who they were. His expression was a little more guarded as he looked them over critically. Zayn was the one who stepped forward, grasping the mans hand.

“ _Walaikumasalam. Main hun Zayn. Ye hain mere dosti. Hum hain saath Anwar saaheb_.” he said, trying to be friendly as he introduced himself and the lads as his friends but the guys grip on his hand was becoming increasingly more threatening, not even paying attention to his words.

"What are you americans doing here?" the young man hissed, lowering his voice so that nobody else could hear.

"What does it matter to you?" Liam saw Zayn’s shoulder tense up, knowing that he should interene before his lover got overzealous.

"Nothing. Tired of seeing my country invaded by your white people. And fake Muslims." he sneered, glancing down at the bird tattoo prominent on Zayn’s skin. Liam reached forward, pulling Zayn’s hand out of that guys grip with surprising strength.

"Hamid!" the young man froze, turning to his father who was gesturing for him to go inside. And he did, with one last glare in their direction.

"Let go Li. I’m okay." Zayn rreassured, which Liam did reluctantly, watching as his dark haired lover walked over to the older man, shaking his hand with a hand over his chest, nodding and answering all of the questions that came with the customary hello. He seemed so at ease, gesturing to them and telling them to come over. They each shook hands with the older man who told them hello in surprisingly good, if not broken English, before ushering them inside.

The walls were lined with bright red long cushions, men taking seats on them, conversing with each other, all eyes turning to them as men stood, ready to greet them. I the end it was only Zayn who went around to each guest while the others sat down on one oside of the room with some kinds that looked their age, watching Zayn being courteous and effortless as he transitioned from one hello to the next, a small smile on his face as he answered their questions before coming and taking a seat beside Niall who was watching him, as if staring at a new person.

Because this Zayn was different from the one they knew, so polite and knowing. He was in his element here, they realized, eyes trained on him as he sat at the  _dasterkhan_  (according to Zayn that’s what it was called) one knee pulled to his chest and the other tucked under him so that his bum was perched on it. His fingers were graceful as they tore off little chunks of bread, breaking apart parts of the meat and wrapping it so effortlessly into bit size chunks that he could easily swallow, his eyes never leaving the people around him. The others struck up conversations with some of the guys their age, who knew English and they wanted to know how big they were in America, eager to hear stories of the country that seemed like paradise.

They were still watching Zayn as the food was taken away and the tea was brought out, how he listened to the stories being told with a serious face, chiming in every once in a while. They could make out the words like  _behen_ and _baba_ but the rest was lost to them in a smooth transition of soft slightly guttural sounds and sharper vowels that flowed together.

They were finally seeing what Zayn’s culture was all about, the men drinking tea and chewing on tobacco, friendly banter and everyone laughing over hot drinks and friends.

"Are you lads alright? Zayn turned to them, eyes shining that was akin to the most familiar thing they had seen all night, giving them a sense of relief that they didn’t know they needed.

"Fine love. It’s a bit much to take in." Louis said, putting a hand on his knee for the smallest  of seconds, pulling away before they could attract attention to themselves.

"I know. But it’s almost over. Don’t worry." he gave them one last smile before someone was calling his name, dragging his attention away from them. 

Zayn wasn’t lying when he said that it wouldn’t last that much longer. People started getting up, walking up to the host and each one of them had a tussle with him, shoving money into his hands and he would reject it, shaking his head.

"What’s going on Zee?" looking toward his boyfriend who was amused, already reaching into his own wallet.

"His son just got engaged and this is sort of a Congratulations Party. They’re offering money to help pay for the cost of the wedding. and of course he’s refusing it. But in the end he’ll take it and thank all of them. It’s more of a gift to the new groom, to get something for his new bride then actually going towards the wedding but that’s how they do it here." he extracted a few hundreds from his wallet, keeping them folded in his fists until he was right in front of them man, making the transition of cash easily as he shook his hands as goodbye. They all wanted to laugh a little at how comically big the elder man’s eyes got as he eyeballed the cash in his hand.

“ _Nahin. Yeh hai bhi kafi saara. Nahim. Bachem, layna yay pecche._ " grabbing onto Zayn’s wrist and trying to shove the money back into his pocket, insisting that it was too much.

Zayn argued, shaking his head even as the man kept insisting that it was too much, to take it back. Finally Zayn leaned it, kissing the back of the man’s hand and said something so softly that only he could hear, until the wizened old face relaxed and looked close to tears.

“ _Shukriya berta. Khuda barkat dena aap aur aapka dosti._ " he grabbed the sides of Zayn’s head and kissed the top his head and Zayn let him, surprising to them all. He was never willing to be this affectionate with strangers. And here he was letting a complete stranger hug and kiss him. They each went and said their goodbyes with the easy  _khudafiz_ and they each got a hug from the wizened old man as well as he patted their cheeks and said thank you, those two words holding as much gratitude in them as he could manage.

"Zayn? Why did that man say thank you to us?" Harry asked, slipping on the converses back on and following after Zayn as he wrapped the  _keffiyah_  around his shoulders.

"I told him the money was a gift from all of us. To help his son with his new life. And take care of some of the expenses. He may not say it but he was grateful for the help." Zayn explained softly as they walked among a group of men, Mr. Anwar conversing with them.

"If he was grateful for the help why did he keep refusing it when everyone slipped him cash?" he asked, cocking his head as he eyes slid back toward the house they just left.

"It’s a pride thing Harreh. We’re all prideful people, wont ask for help, even with we’re most desperate for it.

The way he referred to them as we, clumping himself in with his people, and it made Harry grin proudly, because Zayn was accepting this part of him, so openly when he would normally do everything in his power to shove it away and downplay that he was different. Because here he wasn’t different, the rest of them were.

"I understand that. Have to live with you, don’t I?" he shot back, a giddy smile forcing itself onto his poker face as Zayn laughed, head thrown back and throwing an arm over his shoulder, forcing himself onto tiptoes to do. Zayn glanced back at the others who were looking around with carefully veiled interest and curiosity, watching them how he suspected that they watched him when he was out of his element. It was an odd feeling for him, to be the one watching out for them while sinking into the familiarity of the country that reflected his entire childhood, an odd flip that rattled his nerves but he felt the hand slip into his surreptitiously hidden in the dark and without even looking he knew who those delicate fingers belonged to.

"Y’alright Niall?" he asked softly, still leaning heavily on Harry’s side.

"Yeah. Overwhelmed. But it’s a good kind, y’know? I never knew there was so much about your culture that you never told." slightly accusatory as he glanced at his boyfriend.

"Because you never asked blondie. But you’ve already seen a lot of it. Remember our date at that restaurant during X-factor? And the times that you lads came for Eid?" he said, feeling the calloused thumb, roughed up from strumming on his guitar, stroked the back of his hand.

"Yeah, but there’s so much that I never knew. That I want to know." he said gently, watching the backs of the men who were now silently making their way back to the hotel.

"Yeah, guess we got our work cut out for us. Don’t want any future children not knowing about their heritage." Liam chimed in, making Zayn’s heart stop beating for a minute at his words. Children? They had been thinking about children? And they wanted to teach them about his religion and his culture? When they outnumbered him four to one? He had never willingly thought about it but he just always assumed that his background would be overlooked.

"There’s plenty of time for that. Later." Louis murmurs, walking up behind Zayn, hands gliding along the cool clothe that covered him, pressing a kiss behind one ear before falling back in step with Louis, the others extracting themselves from the huddle as they approached the lights of the city, heads bowed to the stares that lingered on them but they could feel Zayn’s eyes still on them, careful and wary as they darted around, as if looking for dangers that could approach them and oh how the tables had turned, because that was them, they were his walls against the world. He was their barrier in this strange new world and they let him be. Let him take the role of leader in this unknown territory because this place was part of Zayn, and all they could do was watch and let it soak into their skin everything new and dusty roads scattered with debris scary and intriguing, almost like Zayn was, rare and amazing beauty under the facade. Just like this land.


End file.
